Cupcakes & Cocktails
by oneoneohohone
Summary: claudia's getting married! it's a bsc reunion for the ages. super special format, written for the babysitters100 challenge.
1. Prologue: Kristy :: Cocktail

**_a/n - yeah i wrote another story. what of it! i never claimed to be good at *finishing* anything. this story i'm debating - kristy pov or super special format? tell me what you think!_**

**Prologue.**

**Kristy.**

"You got a letter, Kristy." My roommate Evan called from the kitchen as I tossed my keys on our coffee table. "Next to the couch."

"What are you making?" I didn't pay attention to the envelope as I picked it up, only to the heavenly aroma coming from our kitchen. Pork. Definitely pork. And something else. Caramelized onions, maybe.

"Barbeque tenderloin." Evan replied, smiling as I walked into the kitchen. I felt gut-punched, in the best possible way, as the smells of his cooking hit me. I've been out of college for years. I don't _need_ a roommate. But Evan is a chef and I absolutely cannot give him up. Besides, the last three restaurants he worked at went under. He'd never make it on his own.

Evan and I, we live in a loft apartment in Boston. Currently I'm working for a T-shirt company as an "assistant." This means I pretty much do everything. My boss is very laid-back and I pick up the pieces. I get paid well for my job, but I'm starting to feel like my Business degree is useless. I got into Epic Tee's with promises of moving quickly, having the world in my hands, running the show, once we went big. My dream is to be an executive, and Epic was about to take off when I joined.

Then, of course, the economy crashed. Now I'm stuck. There are no other jobs, and I'm terrified to give up the one I have, though I essentially despise it.

My name is Kristy Thomas, and I'm twenty-seven years old. I grew up in a small town called Stoneybrook, Connecticut, where I _did _run my own business, and a successful one at that. After college I felt that need to _get out,_ though, and ended up in Boston. Woo, big leap, I know. My older brothers both ended up in California. Now _that_ is getting away.

Yet here I am. It's not so bad. In fact, I love Boston. Baseball culture is kind of my thing.

"What's the letter?" Evan asked, straining to see what was in my hand. "It's big, and thick. Kind of like my–"

"It's an _invitation,_ you moron." I interrupted him. Suddenly my curiosity piqued. Invitation to what? I looked at the envelope.

"New York City." I muttered. That meant two possibilities. Claudia Kishi or Stacey McGill. I tore it open and read aloud: "Put on your favorite little black dress and join us for 'cupcakes and cocktails,' in honor of our soon-to-be-bride _Claudia KISHI_!"

"The artist one?" Evan asked, snatching the invitation from my hand. "'Hosted by Claudia's lovely bridal party Stacey, Janine, Yvette, Tanisha, and Charlotte.' So Stacey is her Maid of Honor. Did you even know she was getting married?"

"_No._" I huffed, irritated. Not because they hadn't told me. I get left out of the loop a lot these days among our old group of friends. Not for not being asked to be in the bridal party, Claud knew better than that. I did it for Mary Anne, but never again. No. Because this meant that I was last. I didn't even have a _boyfriend_, let alone a husband or fiancee. All I had was a roommate who was an awesome cook. Stacey, Mary Anne, Dawn and Jessi had all gotten married in the last five years or so. Mallory had been engaged for two. Abby had declared her girlfriend her "life-partner." I had been okay with all of this, because Claudia, wild, gorgeous Claudia, was still single, too. I wasn't a freak.

But now I was.

Married. Claudia was getting _married. _Wow, that was going to be some wedding. I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Mary Anne. She answered on the first ring.

"Did you get yours? I was just about to call you!" She squealed excitedly. "I can't believe she didn't - Isabella get _down_ from there, you're going to break your neck! - I can't believe she didn't tell us she was getting married!"

"So you didn't know either? Good, I don't feel so bad about that, then." I replied, listening wistfully to the background sounds of Mary Anne's life. Isabella, her three-year-old daughter, shouting. I could hear Aiden, her eighteen-month-old son, babbling as well. And yes, there was the dog barking. Mary Anne never left Stoneybrook. Went to Stoneybrook University, married a lawyer, became a baby-factory. She lives on Fawcett Avenue, not far from the Ramsey's.

"No cocktails for me." She said with a giggle. I could picture her patting her bulging belly. "But a cupcake or ten, for sure!"

"Mary Anne, I'm the _last_." I said morosely, headed for my room, all yummy smells forgotten.

"The last what?" She asked, sounding distracted.

"The last single one in our group. I'm an old bag. Nobody will ever love me!" I fell onto my bed and hugged my huge alligator-shaped pillow.

"I thought you didn't want to get married until you were thirty?"

"Well I didn't think _every single one of you_ would get married before me! Ugh! I hate feeling like this! I was always the baby, the last to do anything."

"Dawn and Nathan are getting a divorce, you know that."

"Not helping!" I shouted, holding the phone away from my face.

"Kristy, you've spent the last fifteen years convincing me you didn't care about men, what do you want me to say? Eric has this friend–"

"How old?"

"Thirty-four I think? Anyway, this guy, he's about to make partner–"

"Baggage?"

"I think he has a little boy but his ex–"

"What does she look like?"

"What? Kristy I don't _know._ What do you care? Anyway, I was _going_ to say, that, as you know, the firm has a branch in Boston, and Eric and this guy – Frank, I think his name is? Are going to be making a few trips up there, soon."

"Are you coming, too?"

"Bella has pre-school–"

"Mary _Anne_! It's just a day trip. You of all people know baby-sitters are perfectly safe." I was whining. I hate it when I whine. "Didn't you say Lucy Newton is an awesome sitter?"

"Well, yeah, but she's only fourteen–"

"You baby-sat Lucy when you were _twelve_!" I exclaimed. "And she was practically a newborn. Cut the cord, woman!"

Mary Anne giggled. "Well, maybe. I'll think about it. Back to the subject at hand, though–"

"Oh, my Lord! I cannot believe Claudia is getting married. Can you imagine this wedding?"

"Well... no. Not really. I'm just excited for the bridal shower. One thing at a time. Have you called in your RSVP yet?"

Laughing, I held up the invitation to look at it again. "No, I didn't. I just opened it. I'm guessing you did?" The invitation was printed on white paper, with splashes of bright orange, blue, and pink. It was very Claudia.

"Of course. I got Stacey's voicemail, though. I sent her a text, but she hasn't answered. Maybe I'll email her..."


	2. Chapter One: Mary Anne :: Surprise

_a/n: i changed the original of this to the "prologue," since this is now a super special. and now comes the awkward "character thinking about friends so she can conveniently tell you about them" chapter. ;) -11oo1_

**Chapter One: **

**Mary Anne**

* * *

><p><em>Put on your favorite little black dress and join us for <em>

'_Cupcakes and Cocktails,' _

_in honor of our soon-to-be-bride Claudia Kishi!_

_Hosted by Claudia's lovely bridal party _

_Stacey, Janine, Yvette, Tanisha, and Charlotte._

_No Boys Allowed!_

_Saturday * October 22__nd__ * 7pm_

_RSVP Stacey Elizabeth Price 555-6547_

_or _

_followed by an Engagement Celebration Brunch!_

_Hosted by John & Rioko Kishi_

_Boys, Men, and Children Welcome!_

_Sunday * October 23__rd__ * 10am_

_RSVP 555-9278_

_Save The Date! _

_12.03.2011_

* * *

><p>I sighed happily, reading the invitation for probably the eightieth time. It was all so romantic! The surprise wedding, the weekend in New York City. I absolutely cannot believe that Claudia, not to mention her sister, her parents, Stacey, and Charlotte Johanssen had managed to keep it a secret for so long. It takes <em>time<em> to plan a wedding. I discovered that planning my own to Eric Bordeaux just over five years ago. There I was, 21 years old, juggling my senior year of college (I graduated with a degree in Psychology, but have yet to go into the profession. I keep having children!) and planning my wedding to Eric. I graduated in June, and we married in September, just after my birthday.

I should back up a little.

My name is Mary Anne Spier. Why not Mary Anne Bordeaux, you ask? Because I couldn't do it. I love my father very much, and do not want the Spier name to drop into oblivion anytime soon. Eric doesn't mind at all.

Eric and I were introduced by my father. Eric was just an intern at Dad's firm, and for some reason he decided that we made a perfect match - and he was right. I fell in love with Eric the moment I met him, and have never stopped. Just after we celebrated our first wedding anniversary, we had Isabella, our first child. Two and a half years later, Aiden came into our lives. And a year after _that,_ I caught pregnant once again. I'm 22 weeks along with another girl. We still haven't decided on a name. Olivia sounds nice to me.

I still live in good old Stoneybrook, Connecticut. When I was a kid I had dreams of living in New York City, or maybe Hollywood, but when the time came I realized I just couldn't be so far away from Dad and my stepmother, Sharon. I want my children to see their grandparents every day if they want. I like having a big, accessible family. Guess what - things are getting even better!

I guess I shouldn't sound quite so excited. It's very sad that my stepsister Dawn is getting divorced. I've spent a lot of hours crying on the phone with her in the last few months. But just last week, Dawn confided something in me.

"I understand why she did it, Mary Anne." Dawn had said seriously. I could hear a thickness in her voice that meant she'd been crying.

"Why who did what?" I'd replied softly, peeking into Bella's room. She was sleeping soundly. It was ten o'clock at night. Just seven in California, where Dawn is.

"Why she moved us so far away when she and Dad got divorced. I always kind of resented her for it in a way, breaking up our family like that." I realized Dawn was talking about Sharon, her mother. " But now I understand. I just want to be as far away from the creep as possible." Her breath hitched. She usually cries every time she talks about him. They'd been married for three years, and Nathan had seemed like a good guy, but a little over a year ago Dawn had gotten pregnant, and had a miscarriage. She was miserable. I guess so was Nathan. He showed it in a different way, though - by cheating on Dawn.

"Don't talk about it." I said quickly, before she could go off on a tangent about Nathan. I feel like she needs to think about him as little as possible right now. "Keep going."

She took a few deep breaths. "Well, really, more than anything . . . I just want my Mom. And you. I need my family back. So I'm coming back to Stoneybrook. I'm going to stay with Mom and Richard for a while."

I'd wanted to jump for joy - my sister was coming home! - but I realized I couldn't do that, of course.

So I had reason to be excited. Dawn would be back in about two weeks. In just over a month I would have a weekend in New York City and a reunion with all of my old friends, which we hadn't all been together since Stacey got married last year. Stacey's wedding hadn't been a spectacle at all - it had been intimate, their closest friends and family, at a beautiful mansion in the Hamptons. She's widely known in the City, because she attends a lot of Big Events with her husband, Martin Price. Her husband is _rich._ Stacey wasn't too bad off herself - she went to Princeton, graduated with a bachelors in Finance, was working for a pretty big firm - but Martin is an executive at one of the bigger brokerage companies on Wall Street. He's ten years older than Stacey. So Stacey McGill is now "Stacey Elizabeth Price," which she says she likes the sound of. Stacey is everything a Manhattan socialite is supposed to be - tall, blonde, beautiful, and rich. She's still a diabetic, of course, but she now gets the best care money can buy, and rarely gets ill.

I wondered about Claudia's wedding. Would it be a spectacle? Oh, for sure. Claudia was always an artist, and always wild. She was a terrible student, and never made it into the art schools she'd hoped for as a kid. That doesn't matter, though, because Claudia is in a league of her own. She went to New York with Stacey intent on becoming something, and she's slowly making it. She paints, designs jewelry and clothing, and is a decorator. She and Stacey attempted to start an event planning business, but never could get it off the ground. The last time I saw Claudia her hair was in a shaggy cut, and was streaked with fuchsia. And because Manhattan is known for its bold fashion, Claudia toned herself down, as to not be like everyone else. I think she doesn't want to be mistaken for trying too hard. She wears a lot of black with big, clunky, brightly colored jewelry she makes herself, and big, clunky, brightly colored shoes that probably cost as much as my mortgage. I'll bet she's designed her own dress. As I told Kristy, I cannot begin to imagine what it will look like.

Back when we were kids, Kristy had been loud, bossy, and full of ideas. She wore jeans and sneakers, a messy ponytail, and her mouth got her in trouble a lot. Kristy has not changed. She's still short, though she's discovered platform shoes. Her long brown hair is still always in a ponytail, and she still wears jeans. From what I see in pictures and in person (Kristy lives in Boston, and while that's not _incredibly_ far away, it's still pretty darn far.) she dresses up a little more with tops, instead of just T-shirts and turtlenecks. Probably to go with the big shoes she wears. Kristy is also just as competitive as ever, which is why her being so frantic about being the "last" of us to get married (or something close to it.) wasn't such a shocker. Everything is a game to her. She works for a T-shirt company, but I'm really not sure what her title is. Usually she waves her hand, saying "Oh, I kind of do everything." when you ask her. Then she changes the subject. I don't think Kristy is in love with her job. And I think she might be lonely up there. It's not lonely here, plenty of people stayed behind. Even Abby Stevenson!

It was not a shock at all when Abby came out sophomore year, and none of us cared. I mean, we _cared_ but we weren't bothered by it. She's still the same girl - loves sports, allergic to life. She manages Stacey's mother's clothing store! That's why she never went far. She started working there in high school, stayed part-time through college, and decided to make a career of it. Maureen Spencer is talking about opening a second store in Mercer and having Abby as her "district manager," which I think is really exciting. Abby lives not far from me in a little rented house with her girlfriend - well, wife, I guess - Theresa. They had this small commitment ceremony about two years ago, and it was beautiful. Probably the nicest BSC wedding I've been to - aside from my own, of course.

It was getting late, and I decided to put down the shower invitation and check my Facebook. Eric was working late all week and had called to say he was zonked and would stay at his office in Stamford, and he loved me. This isn't an unusual occurrence. I opened up my laptop and felt a small thrill to see I had a new private message. Unless it was something totally out of the blue - and I keep my Facebook account pretty private, only good friends and family - that message would be a reply to one I had sent this morning. I clicked on the icon and was greeted by a tiny thumbnail but still spectacular picture of Logan Bruno.

Logan was my first real boyfriend. And we'd dated, on and off, through high school, as well. Usually out of mutual boredom - one of us would need a date to a dance or a group thing, and when all else failed, would turn to the other. While we were closer to "friends" than "more than," we had the occasional hot and heavy make out session in the backseat of his car. I lost contact with Logan after he left for college - he went back to Kentucky. Suddenly, out of the blue about three months ago, he showed up on Facebook. He was excited to tell me that he and his girlfriend were expecting a baby. I was very happy to hear from him and excited at his news. And though we were both taken, we kind of went back to out old ways, friendly flirting. Nothing serious, of course!

Logan's message said that yes, he'd also received an invitation, but only to the Brunch the next day. And yes, of course he would go. This was Claudia's wedding, after all - he even added that he felt bad about missing the other BSC weddings. Especially mine. I nearly screamed. He was _coming_! I was going to see Logan again for the first time in nearly ten years! I allowed myself a little dance as my heart pitter-pattered. Then I briefly wondered if I should feel so excited. Of course I should, right? An old friend, so much time...

But what would Eric think of me seeing and old boyfriend? Hmm.

I contemplated this as I scrolled through Facebook. Jessi Fields (former Ramsey) had uploaded a picture of the girls in her class - she taught beginners ballet at a community center in New Jersey. The girls looked adorable in their black leotards and pink tights, their hair tightly wound to their heads. The grins in the picture were priceless - most of them were missing teeth. Jessi moved back to New Jersey with her husband, Cliff, about five years ago. They married young, and Cliff got a great job straight out of college, but had been laid off last year. Now he's working at a software company in Manhattan for much, much less, and I know that they are in trouble financially. Jessi never went to college, just arts schools, and found that ballet didn't make the best career. She teaches, but she doesn't make much money. She occasionally gets into performances, even some off Broadway stuff, but never anything huge. She wants badly to get _on_ Broadway, but that's a tough thing to break into.

Mallory Pike is still absolutely Jessi's best friend. She even followed her to New Jersey after she graduated from college. Mallory is engaged, and has been for two years, to this guy Rik. Mal and Rik are very trendy. I do believe the term is "hipster." Mal has a great job as a blogger for a trendy website, and she's also a freelance journalist. She's discussing self-publishing a novel these days, for her "fan base." Which she _does_ have one. Mal still has that red hair, though it's straighter and longer - and wears those big horn rimmed glasses that seem to be so trendy now. She seems incredibly happy with her life, and I don't blame her. Ugly Duckling, meet Swan. Though I never thought Mal was ugly.

Facebook is so handy for keeping in touch - I hate that Kristy isn't on it. Shannon Killborn had put up an entire photo album of pictures from Italy. She travels a lot. Her fiancee is a professional photographer, and she travels the world with him, which is probably the most exciting thing I can think of. Shannon is a fair photographer herself, and I always look forward to the pictures she shares from different parts of the world. I've never met her fiancee. She met him on a trip to Greece with her sister Tiffany. Shannon probably has the most exciting, glamorous life of anyone I have ever known. Stacey Elizabeth Price herself included.

I sighed, closing my laptop again. My little girl fluttered around in my tummy. All thoughts suddenly turned to the cheesecake in my refrigerator, and I had to have it. _My, my, little girl. When you want something, you want it bad!_ I thought, standing up quickly. The rest of the night in bed with a big slab of cheesecake, some ginger ale, and my TV tuned to Lifetime sounded amazing. I had to get to it quickly. It had been a week full of pleasant surprises, and I was exhausted.


	3. Chapter Two: Stacey :: Sigh

**Chapter Two**  
><strong>Stacey<strong>

_From: NYGrrrl_  
><em>To: MaureenS<em>  
><em>Mom-<em>  
><em>Did you get the invitation? Isn't it gorgeous? Charlotte did the wording. She's a little nervous about being in the wedding, but says she's happy to do it for me, as well as Claudia. I was so happy when she agreed. Claud was really adamant about having one of our old clients in her wedding, probably to counter her sister. Can you BELIEVE Mr. And Mrs Kishi insisted Janine be in the wedding? Claud had to say yes, of course, or they wouldn't have paid for it. I think that's sad, a bride should get everything exactly as she wants it. I'm glad you're such an awesome mom! <em>  
><em>Your wonderful daughter,<em>  
><em>Stacey<em>  
><em>PS - watch out for a package. I sent you some more of those gourmet cookies you loved!<em>

I waited patiently as Carlos, my driver, came around the car to open my door. He won't let me open it myself. He says he wouldn't feel as if he were doing his job.

My door opened, and I stepped out, careful to keep my feet together, careful not to catch my six inch heels on the door frame.

"Thank you, Carlos." I said, smiling widely at him.

"My pleasure, Mrs. Price. Have a wonderful afternoon."

Ugh. "Carlos, please call me Stacey. I don't call you Mr... Mr..." I stumbled, reddening. Why didn't I know his last name?

"Lopez. I'm sorry, Mrs. Price, I cannot." He replied with a smile.

I smiled back. "Fine. See you tomorrow."

"Tonight. You and the Mister are going to a gallery."

"Oh." I nodded and walked away. Had he told me we were going to a gallery? We go out so much, I can never seem to keep track. Carlos shut the door behind me and I headed for my building.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Price!" The doorman said brightly, holding the large door open.

I smiled, embarrassed that I did not know his name. I walked quickly across the lobby, my heels echoing behind me. My feet were absolutely killing me. I couldn't wait to get home and into a hot bath.

I called the elevator, and when the doors closed and left me alone, I sighed and slumped against the wall, kicking off my shoes. Walking upright, perfect posture, head held high all day in six in heels is hard on a girls back. I reached out and pushed the "P" button listlessly, and waited impatiently as I was taken 35 floors to my penthouse apartment.

As I opened the door, I called out. "Martin? I'm home!"

All I heard was clicking on the hardwood floor as Trixie, my Yorkshire Terrier, came running. She ran to me excitedly, putting her tiny paws on my shins.

I dropped my shoes on the ground and picked her up. "Hi, my little Trixie-pixie" I cooed, kissing the top of her head. She licked my cheek and burrowed her face into my neck.

"Martin?" I called again, knowing it was useless. If he was home, which I'm pretty sure he was, he was in his study, working. I wouldn't disturb him. He was probably on the phone to Japan or something. Sighing, I hugged Trixie closer. "Come on, girl. Mommy needs a bath."

I felt a tug on my heart as I said the word "Mommy." I wanted a baby, so bad. Martin, though, felt it wasn't the right time. I'm still waiting on the word of when the right time will be.

My name is Anastasia Elizabeth McGill Price. Publicly, I go by Stacey Elizabeth Price. I'm twenty-seven years old, and live on Park Avenue in New York City with my husband, Martin, Miss Trixie, and countless servants, cooks, maids, what have you. I was born and raised in the City, and it's where my heart belongs. I spent six years in the small town of Stoneybrook, Connecticut and graduated from high school there. My mother still lives there, and I miss her a lot. My father lives here in the City, and I see him, oh, maybe once a month. He works, a lot. Still.

As I ran my bath, I sighed to myself. When Martin proposed to me, I'd been blown away. We had only been dating for two months. But I was in love, and I said yes. We married about a year later, a small but beautiful wedding in the Hamptons. That was a year and four months ago. A year and _three_ months ago, Martin insisted that I stop working. I didn't have the most glamorous job, I wasn't an executive or anything, but I'd been enjoying myself. I love numbers, anything to do with him. Martin, though, insisted that no wife of his would work, but merely be pampered as much as she pleased. That, back then, sounded divine.

Now I'm bored.

Oh, I have plenty to do. Openings and shows, restaurants and galleries, museums and, of course, shopping. I've been helping my best friend, Claudia Kishi, plan her wedding, because I'm her Maid of Honor. I don't feel full, though. I miss being something. Before I was Stacey McGill, Analyst. Now I'm Stacey Elizabeth Price, Socialite. I figure that a baby would make a great difference. But you already know how he feels about that.

I settled into the large whirlpool tub with a moan. Trixie, perched on a towel on the edge of the tub (I say "edge," it's two feet wide, plenty of room for her.) cocked her head at me.

"My back hurts." I explained, playing with the bubbles. Suddenly I felt regret. I could use a nice big glass of chilled red wine. I bit my lip, glancing at the phone. I all have to do is pick it up, and it would ring the servants quarters. (Yes, we have _two_ servants, and yes, they live here.) Even after nearly a year and a half, I felt a little strange asking them to bring me things.

Trixie growled. I grinned at her. "Okay, okay." I said, giving in. I picked up the phone.

"Yes?" A quiet voice said after a moment.

Kara. Good. I was hoping to get her, and not Harold. I _was_ naked, after all, even if the bubbles did cover the interesting parts. "Hello, Kara, this is Stacey."

"Yes, Madam."

Madam. Ugh. "Call me Stacey, Kara." I said, knowing it was useless. "Would you please bring me a glass of chilled Merlot? I'm in the tub in the master bathroom."

"Of course. Does the Madame prefer a year?"

I blushed, even with only Trixie watching. I do _not_ know wine. I used to buy it in a box. "Anything, will do, Kara. I don't really know. Could you also bring a treat for Trixie?"

"Right away." She said crisply, and hung up.

I replaced the phone on its cradle and sighed again. Funny, when I was a teenager I had thought of myself as _sophisticated._ Especially in Stoneybrook. It wasn't until I married into extreme wealth that I found out I didn't know sophistication at all. This was a whole new level. Close to the top level. What comes after Manhattan Elite? Movie stars, royalty... I can't think of much else. Plus I happen to know I have a lot more money than most movie stars. They live much more on the edge, spend their money. The Manhattan Elite _invest._

After perhaps two minutes, a soft knock sounded at the bathroom door. "Come in!" I called brightly.

Kara entered wordlessly, her head slightly downcast. It used to bug me, the way servants just... _put_ themselves below you, with that downward angle to their head. I learned, though, that is how they are trained. Kara is beautiful, exotic. She told me she is from Brazil. Her accent is light but warm, and her face glows even in dim light. Her long black hair is always wound tightly into a bun, and it shines. She always dresses in all black. Everyone on our staff does.

"Thank you, so much, Kara." I said, hoping I sounded gracious, because I very much was. A small silver tray held my glass of wine, and a small dish with something ugly in it for Trixie. Kara set the tray on the vanity, and my wine next to me. She set the dish in front of Trixie, and patted her head with a smile. Trixie dove into her treat.

"My pleasure, Madam."

"Kara, we're alone in a bathroom and I'm naked. Call me Stacey."

She laughed, a sweet laugh, like ringing bells. "Oh, Madam, you're so funny. And you know I cannot."

"But you can!" I insisted. "I am _so _tired of being called Madam, Mrs. Price, ma'am, missus. My name is Stacey, always has been."

"I thought it was Anastasia?" She asked with a grin. I love the way she pronounces my name. _Ann-uh-STAH-juh. _If I could convince everyone to say it like that, I might go for it.

'You could call me that, if you like!" I said excitedly.

"No, Madam, I cannot. Mr. Price would not approve."

"And he pays you." I said with a sigh. "That's fine. Perhaps I'll have a talk with him, convince him to relax the rules a bit."

"Wouldn't that be nice? Is there anything else I can do for you, Madam?"

I thought about it. "Is Martin home?"

"Mr. Price is in his study, yes."

"Do not disturb?"

"He has asked that he be left alone."

"Hmm." I said, chewing on my lip. "Do you know anything about this gallery we're going to tonight?"

"It's an opening. Modern art, I believe? I called in the RSVP."

"Do you know if Claudia is going?"

"I do not believe so, Madam. It is Black Tie."

Translation: Claudia isn't a billionaire. "Hmmph. Do we have any pull? Get her on the list?" I asked hopefully.

"I will see what I can do." Kara said with a smile. "Just Ms. Kishi, or her fiancee, as well?"

"Jackson is in Los Angeles this week, doing a video shoot." I replied. "Let me know as soon as you do, okay? Claud is dying to show off that ring at a formal affair."

"Yes, madam." Kara replied, ducking out of the bathroom.

* * *

><p>When I was done with my wine and bath, pleasantly buzzed, I curled up in my big, fluffy pink robe and dialed my best friend on my iPhone.<p>

Claudia had kept her engagement a secret for two reasons. One, she loves to surprise people. And two, it took _months_ for Jackson to get the ring made. Jackson Grohl is a director, mostly just commercials and music videos. He's dying to break into T.V. and movies, of course. He has a lot of money, just not a lot by the Price standard. He's very artistic, very smart, and is deeply in love with Claudia. He proposed to her three months ago, but didn't have a ring, because he knew Claud would want to design it.

And that she did. It's a massive four-carat chocolate diamond, that sparkles every which way, set in platinum. She made it no secret that she loved how her ring resembled a Hershey Bar wrapped in foil.

Only Claudia.

"Hey Stace." She said when she picked up, sounding distracted. She'd told me she was working this afternoon. She's an assistant to a big-time interior designer. I could picture her, comparing swatches, he Bluetooth clinging to her ear.

"Guess what?" I asked excitedly. Kara had returned not six minutes later to inform me Claud was on the list.

"Martin came out of his study early?" She asked slyly. She knows it frustrates me, how little I see him even when he's home.

"No, but he will be later. We're going to some formal gallery thing. Modern art. Guess who I... well, guess who Kara got on the list?"

"_What?" _Claudia shrieked. "Not the Todd Davis opening?"

"Like I know."

"Oh I think it might be! Modern art, black tie, tonight... it's the only one that I can think of. Yeah! Davis! Oh, my Lord! Formal you say?"

"Formal."

"Omigod... photographers. My ring! I can show off my ring! Stacey! I could make the tabloids! We have to make sure they know I'm engaged to Jackson! Oh, I wish he was here..."

I happily chattered with Claud for nearly an hour, discussing what we would wear. Claud decided she was going to tip off a paparazzo she knew and try and get herself and her ring in a tabloid. Only my Claudia.

After I hung up with her I sat at my vanity and began to reapply my makeup. That's when Martin finally made an appearance.

"Darling." He said, kissing the side of my head. "Are you getting ready? We have an early dinner, and the opening to attend."

"I know." I said, smiling. "I'm getting ready now. I had Kara put Claudia on the list, too."

Did his smile falter just a little when I said that? Sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't like Claudia. She can be a little wild.

But he smiled, nonetheless. "Wonderful! I know how she loves modern art."

_And I don't. _I thought to myself. I mean, I like it, but half my reason for bringing Claud is so I can understand it. "Yes, she does." I agreed. "You don't mind that I invited her?"

"No, of course not. I'm going to be talking to-" He rattled off a long name, some CEO. My eyes glazed over and I lost interest as he explained why this was a good contact.

Oh well. At least I had a night out with Claudia to look forward to.

* * *

><p>"AHHHHHHHHHRRRRRG! Damn you look hot!" Claudia exclaimed as she slid into out limo. I was wearing a Gucci strapless cherry color satin drape gown. I'd let my wavy blonde hair fall over my shoulders, and added modest diamond necklace. In my lap I held a matching furry shag shrug - it was too hot to wear it in the car.<p>

"You brought them!" I exclaimed. Claudia grinned and held the shoes out to me. I'd called her in a shoe crisis, and she had suggested these bright yellow patent Manolo Blahnik pumps she has. I slipped them on and grinned at her. They looked fabulously funky. Just the right touch.

Claudia was decked out in a black skimmer dress with a flowing skirt and tight bodice. It was incredibly low cut - practically to her navel. She'd accessorized with bright green pumps, and a chunky bright green necklace. Her hair hung loose, and she'd added a bright green extension that peeked out from behind her ear. On anyone else it might not have worked, but she looked stunning.

"You look pretty amazing yourself!" I cried, hugging her. "Thanks for the shoes, they're perfect."

Martin was sitting off to the side, a drink in his hand. He looked as if he thought we'd lost our minds. He had a simple tuxedo on. His only accessory was his gold Rolex - and his wedding ring. I moved closer and took his hand. He smiled at me.

"I love you." I murmured, leaning in and kissing him lightly on the lips.

"I love you t–"

And his cell phone rang.

So much for our moment. I pulled away as he answered. Claud smiled at me sympathetically. I grinned back, trying to shake it off. "So, tell me about this Tom David guy."

She laughed. "Todd Davis. He's got a real Andy Warhol style. My favorite piece..." and Claud was off and running. I sat there, in the back of a limo, My husband at my side with a finger in one ear and a phone at the other, and my best friend gushing about the artist we were about to see, and wondered why I suddenly felt left out.


	4. Chapter Three: Kristy :: Bake

**Chapter Three  
>Kristy<strong>

* * *

><p><em>D. M. - <em>_Hey! Charlotte asked me to be her date to Claudias wedding :)_  
><em>You - <em>_u guys r dating?_  
><em>D.M. - <em>_I don't know, we were talking the store and she just asked if I'd go w/her_  
><em>You - <em>_wow. U said yes? R u going 2 brunch 2?_  
><em>D.M. - <em>_Cant got a paper. You think she likes me?_

* * *

><p>I gazed at my phone. Of course Charlotte liked David Michael. I may not be educated in the ways of boys and girls, but I do know that Charlotte Johanssen is pretty shy, and that a girl doesn't just ask any guy to a wedding, especially if she's a bridesmaid. I was happy for my brother. He's twenty-one years old now, and he rarely dates, he's thrown himself into school so much.<p>

Of course, that was yet another person with a date. Last in the BSC to be committed, last person on earth without a date. Yikes.

Well, maybe not. I bet Dawn will be going alone.

I frowned, at myself and my phone. That was an insensitive thought. I'd better be careful around Dawn. Mary Anne told me she's moving back to Stoneybrook, and I don't want my stupid mouth making Dawn cry.

I texted David Michael back a "Y," and, as I hit send, my roommate Evan shouted from the kitchen.

"Pastries, Kristy!"

I bolted from my room, forgetting the wedding. Johnny, my rescue mutt, skidded behind me on the wood floor. "On my way!" I shouted. Ah, food. I do love food. Especially Evan's food. He's been baking for hours.

Johnny and I ran into the kitchen, and David pointed to a plate, not looking away from the bag he was squeezing. "Chocolate eclairs." He said. Evan is tall, about six foot two, with very short brown hair and warm brown eyes. He was wearing a blue apron covered in flour, jeans, and a black t-shirt. We're practically identical, except I don't do aprons. Or cooking, really.

I grabbed an eclair and stuffed it into my mouth. "Ohm eye gob!" I moaned, settling into a chair. "Ahts uhmmetez."

"Thanks." He said, finishing the pastry he was working on and smiling. I didn't need to translate. He'd learned Kristy's full mouth speech over the years. (By the way, I said "Oh my God, that's amazing." in case you didn't catch it.)

I swallowed and cleared my throat.

Evan continued his work.

"AHEM." I repeated loudly.

"Whatever it is, just say it." He replied casually.

"Well... my brother just texted me that he has a date to the wedding."

Evan continued working.

"My _little_ brother." I went on, scratching Johnny's head. "Six years younger."

Evan raised an eyebrow but didn't look up.

"I don't have a date."

"Why don't you just go alone?" He asked. (He still didn't look up.)

"Everyone else has a date! Every one of my friends in the BSC is married or is getting married. One's already getting a divorce for god's sake!" I exclaimed, stuffing another eclair in my mouth.

"You should ask Peter."

"Peter!" I nearly choked. "That douche? He told me he wanted to buy me implants!"

"You could use them." Evan replied, not missing a beat. That's what I love about Evan, he's not afraid to joke with me.

"Shut up." I replied, flicking a bit of cream at him. "So anyway, I'm all, like... well, I was the _president_, okay? And here I am, all..."

"Old and lonely?" Evan contributed.

"It's just not how I saw myself!" I burst out. "I saw myself having a picket fence, two kids, a dog, a CEO job while my husband stayed at home and coached little league." I laughed. "Well, maybe not that specific. But, really, I'm not what I thought I would be. I'm in this crappy job, no kids even though kids used to be my LIFE, sure I've got Johnny..." I trailed off, patting his head. Didn't want him to feel left out. "I'm single. You know, even though I was a little awkward, when it came to guys, there were always a few around. Boyfriends and stuff. I always had someone to go to the dances with." I thought of Bart Taylor, whom I hadn't even spoken to in years.

"Didn't you say the first guy you dated ended up with Claudia?"

"EXACTLY!" I exploded. "Guys liked me because I was sporty. I could talk stats, throw a ball, and I could clean up and be pretty when necessary. I never did the drama crap, was always straightforward..." I sighed. "Too straightforward, for most."

"Do you have a point or are you just going to keep whining like a teenage girl? I have cookies to bake, too, you know."

Mmm, cookies. Evan bakes great cookies. "Shut up! I'm getting to it. All I'm saying is... I don't want to be Kristy, the one who can't keep a guy because of her mouth. Again. I'm the last single one in the group. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Plenty of perfectly normal people are single at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, Kristy. Look at me."

And the gears began to turn.

"I don't want them to see me as a failure." I said carefully. "I was their leader." my mind was working around an idea. The BSC, my family, the old charges. I'm pretty sure they all knew that I was stuck in Boston in a dead end job, no life. I've never kept that a secret.

But what if...

"What if you were my date?" I asked, feeling wild. "What if you and I have been together this whole time, _and_ we're planning to get married?"

Evan finally looked up. "You're nuts."

"Hear me out!" I cried, thinking ferociously. "What if... what if Claudia isn't the only one with this big surprise? What if I had one, too? That all along, even thought they thought I was stuck and driving away men with my big mouth, I was with you?"

Evan shook his head. "This sounds like the plot to a bad RomCom. Have you been watching chick flicks again? Jennifer Aniston?"

"No."

"Kate Hudson?"

"No!"

Evan clucked his tongue. "I knew it. Kathrine Heigl."

My face reddened. Okay, so I'd ordered a couple of her movies on Netflix last night - so what? I like her. She's awkward, funny, sporty...

"Kristy! Life does not work out like those stupid movies!" Evan exclaimed, laughing.

"But our lives..." I tried to find a way to say it. "Our lives sometimes _did_, okay? We had so much fun, romance, drama, mysteries... our lives were like movies when we were kids! This isn't so far fetched! Everyone is already convinced that we're either in love or one of us is gay, we've been living together so long."

Evan looked down at the eclairs, his apron. "I don't have good enough hygiene to be gay. Didn't even wash my hands before I started making these."

I choked on the third eclair I was eating. "Well no girl would put up with me." I said, laughing.

"Neither would any guy, apparently"

"JUST LISTEN!"

"Look, Kristy, I'll do whatever you want. But I gotta tell you, every RomCom I've ever seen ends with the two people who actually hate each other that are pretending they love each other having sex, usually drunk but always mutual, and then there's some big revelation, then they hate each other again, then there's a misery montage with some Macy Gray music, and then they make up with some big speech in front of at least 100 people." Evan wiped his hands on his apron, and despite his earlier claim, began to wash them.

I was laughing "So?"

"So can we just skip to the sex part?" He asked, grinning mischievously.

Very calmly, I stood, walked around the counter, and punched him in the stomach. He dropped to his knees, gasping

"No wonder you're single!" He groaned, trying to stand up.

* * *

><p>Later, I was laying on my bed, the smell of cookies baking in the air, a plate of eclairs on my night stand, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me. What did I care that I was the last of my friends to get married? Why did I suddenly feel as if I had something to prove?<p>

That was simple enough, I guess. I love to compete. And I hate to be last at anything.

I lamented, missing being a kid. I'd never cared about boys, back then, and they'd been around. Now that I'm an adult, my so-called biological clock is going haywire, and I haven't been on a date in nearly a year. Haven't even been asked. Haven't found anyone I've wanted to ask, myself. And sex? Ugh, I didn't even want to think about sex. When I find a guy attractive, I tend to be loud, obnoxious, and forward. A lot of men can't handle that, for some reason. Guys like to feel powerful, feel like they're overcoming some obstacle getting a girl to sleep with them. Me, when I'm ready, I'll say so. Why play games? Why be coy? Why can't any man on this planet handle that?

I'm a failure at relationships.

I bit into another eclair thoughtfully. I guess that was it. I see myself as a failure in that area, so I want to prove I'm not. But I've gotten so sick of failing, rejection, that I've kind of given up. So why not fake it? Fake it, and nobody gets hurt. Like I'd told Evan, all of my friends think we're in love, anyway. Why not play into it? Why not give them what they want?

Evan had actually been in a long-term relationship when we'd met, and when he moved in with me it was because she'd broken up with him and thrown him out. He'd been devastated, sworn off women forever. That, of course, was four years ago, and he's dated several times since, but he's pretty much the same as me. Drives them away with his big mouth.

This is why everyone (and by everyone, I pretty much just mean Mary Anne, and my little sisters Karen and Emily, all three hopeless romantics in my life.) has this idea that Evan and I are secretly in love. I've burst their bubbles, separately and together, on several different occasions, but they persist. My other friends, the other girls in the BSC, sometimes comment on the situation, as well. They usually go the other route, that one of us is gay if we're not together. My friends, even my family, all think Evan and I are the perfect couple.

So why not give them what they want? I mean, Evan and I live together anyway. If I told everyone we were engaged, to shut them up, what would it hurt? Engagements can last a long time. Look at Mal and her fiancee, whatever his name is. He's got long hair and big plugs in his ears. I've only met him once.

I laughed to myself, feeding Johnny a bit of eclair. He smiled at me. I was being so silly. Lie to my entire family, all of my friends? What was I, crazy?

I would bring Evan to the wedding, and probably the brunch. Just like I brought him to everything. But I couldn't pull that off, lying to everyone. It was stupid. What do I care, if I'm the last BSC member to commit? What does it matter?

"I was just being silly." I told Johnny. He inched his was closer and licked my face. "I don't really care. At least I have you, boy."

I took a bite off of another eclair, and gave him half. He wolfed it down, grinning and wagging his tail.

Who needs men, with dogs like Johnny and a roommate that bakes?


End file.
